It wasn’t Thanksgiving that got me, the overflowing table where he wasn’t for the first time – my windshield not cleaned the paper trash not taken to the burn barrel – No. It was a practical three pack of flashlights that did me in, the kind of thing that men of my father’s age buy … More Fleet Farm Translations
it’s the ritual of the envelope/ of the return address/ of your address/ of the stamp the card I will send to you is a time traveler, you I hold like a tiny beacon for a moment while outside darkness like a stray cat curls around the house and Sheila wrapped in a parka dispenses … More Decembering
Alone I went, I went alone to the rollicking Christmas tree farm; the saw was sharp, sharp was the saw that tucked itself under my arm – I felled a tree, the tree now mine and i cradled it there in the snow men swaddled it tight with loops of twine and i stood it … More Alone I Went
Halfway North 